


just a bad dream

by kissfromamuse



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bad Dreams, Comfort, Hot Chocolate, M/M, Nonbinary Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:40:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29600496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissfromamuse/pseuds/kissfromamuse
Summary: Based on the prompt, “Aziraphale and Crowley’s child coming to sleep with them after having a bad dream.” Written for Moth, my nibling. You never fail to inspire me.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 15





	just a bad dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadowmothhh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowmothhh/gifts).



> Nothing too scandalous here. Aziraphale and Crowley share a kiss at some point in the story, but that’s it for the romance.

“ARR RARR RARR!! ARRR RR RR ARGHHH!”

For the second time that week, the monsters were plaguing Basil’s dreams. Long after Basil had their bedtime story read to them, and long after they had been tucked in soundly, they tossed and they turned as the vicious creatures roared at them. With their wrinkly purple and green and orange skin, and giant feet, and sharp teeth, a little kid, even if they were an otherworldly being, was no match for them. And though they all looked silly, and though they wore no clothes, and though they all screamed nonsense syllables, it was all too much for little Basil. They were only eight. And when they saw monsters, they ran. 

They jerked awake, shaking from both the fear and the cold. They knew that only one thing would help, and it certainly wasn’t counting sheep in their dark, frigid bedroom, alone. Still in their pyjamas, they crept upstairs to their parents’ room, which was always cosy. Aziraphale and Crowley (Dad and Papa, respectively, to Basil) were still up, each quietly going about their nightly routine. Across the room, Papa was inspecting one of his succulents lined up against the wall for any damage, while Dad was lying in a prone position with a book in hand ( _ Beginner’s Guide to Miracles _ , a true classic). Upon seeing Basil in the doorway, their fathers rushed over.

“My dear child, what seems to be the worry this time?” inquired Aziraphale, rolling off the bed, and quickly smoothing down the tartan duvet, while Crowley wrapped Basil in a tight hug. 

“I had another bad dream,” Basil wailed into Crowley’s chest, although it came out as “Ihannanunnbadeam”. Luckily, both dads were pretty used to figuring out what their kid said, even when it was garbled with snot.

“You had a bad dream, but I promise it was only a dream,” Crowley confirmed gently, leaning down, kissing the top of Basil’s head, and ruffling their strawberry-blond hair. “I promise, munchkin, you hear me? I don’t make promises a lot, but I’m sure of this.” He gave Basil’s shoulder a squeeze before taking their hand. “What say we go downstairs and get you some cocoa?” Crowley looked at Aziraphale for confirmation that this was acceptable. He knew how much Aziraphale prized his hot cocoa.

“Anything for our darling, you know that.” Aziraphale smiled at Crowley, took Basil’s other hand, pressed a tissue into it. “Blow your nose, sweetheart.”

Basil did as told. They were already starting to feel better. They tossed the tissue into the wastebasket, grabbed Aziraphale’s hand and walked down the carpeted stairs, feeling safe with one parent on either side of them. Aziraphale snapped his fingers as the three made their way into the kitchen— _ let there be light _ —and the lights flickered on swiftly.

There was a small breakfast nook in one corner of the kitchen, filled with single packets of jam and butter that Crowley had stolen from various restaurants (apricot, dragonfruit, peach, guava, strawberry, grape, and pomegranate, among others; goat’s milk, cow’s milk, sheep’s milk, and even yak’s milk), as well as single-serving mixes of tea (Earl Grey, lavender, chamomile, peppermint, chai, matcha, etc.) and hot chocolate imported from all around the world (Aziraphale’s doing).

“I don’t think it’s an Ovaltine kind of night, do you, Basil?” Crowley asked them, rummaging through the various packets of hot-chocolate mix (some of which were outlandish flavours—ever tasted Dark-As-Your-Soul hot chocolate? Didn’t think so). 

They shook their head. “What time is it anyway, Papa?”

“Two o’clock in the morning, but don’t worry about that. Right now it’s cocoa time, okay? Now, mallows or no mallows?” He pulled out a packet labelled  _ Mercury’s Finest Cacao Powder _ .

“Mallows, of course.” 

“Will you give me a smile? I know that dream was scary, and we can talk more about it, but right now I want to see you smile.” Crowley stuck out his tongue.

“Your tongue looks funny,” Basil chuckled, unable to hide their grin.

Aziraphale turned around from his place at the stove, where he was boiling milk. “It’s always looked funny. That’s one of his more charming qualities, you know.”

“Got me there, angel.” Crowley tossed the cocoa packet to Aziraphale and picked up the marshmallow container, handing it to Basil. “Right, so, you can have as many marshmallows as you want in your cocoa, although I’d recommend the miniature ones if you want to really fill your mug efficiently.”

“The minis, please,” said Basil. “I quite like popping them in, one by one.”

“Just in time, cocoa’s all ready,” said Aziraphale. “Careful now, it’s hot.” He set a cloth coaster down, and a mug that read  _ London 1842 _ on top of it. Basil shook some of the mini marshmallows into a bowl, and began picking them up one at a time and dropping them into their steaming cup.

“Is there anything about your dream you’d like to get off your chest, treasure?” Crowley looked across the table at Basil.

“I don’t know. I just remember the monsters being big and frightening and all sorts of colours. May I sleep with you and Dad tonight? Just in case they come back?”

“Yes, of course you may.”

“Why don’t you take the mug and coaster upstairs and you can drink the hot choc there?” Aziraphale suggested. “When I have bad dreams, I like to have a hot drink nearby before I fall asleep again.”

“What if I spill all over the covers?” Basil worried.

“Then one of us will miracle it away,” said Crowley, matter-of-factly. “Up you get.”

They traipsed back up the stairs, single file, Aziraphale holding up the rear to snap the lights back off (he hated wasting electricity, even though technically he could have as much as he wanted).

Crowley switched on the bedroom lights this time, dimming them in a blink of an eye. “I suppose you’ll want a story to distract you?”

“Why, that would be nice, wouldn’t it,” said Aziraphale. “Shall we tell them about the world not ending?”

“I think we ought to save that for another time, as it were. I was thinking of a funnier story.”

“Naples, 1522?”

“Precisely.”

“What happened in Naples, Papa?” asked Basil, as they all climbed onto the bed.

“Ah, that was when your Dad and I found our first duck pond. You see, the bakers liked to toss out these rounds of burnt dough—later down the road, humans started calling the rounds ‘pizza’, topped them with vegetables and cheese, and burnt them very rarely—and I’d steal them from the waste bins.”

“Now, mind you,” said Aziraphale, “this wasn’t Venice, so finding ducks and water took some doing. Finally, a few miles out from the city, we found a secluded area. Suprise! Ducks. In their very own little pond.”

“What we didn’t know,” said Crowley, with a gleam in his eye, “was how snappy these ducks were. So your Dad tossed some bread to them, and they wouldn’t take it. I said, ‘Let me try,’ and I got closer.”

“My dear boy, you didn’t just  _ get closer _ , you shoved that bread right under their beaks,” said Aziraphale. “Really went for it.”

“And did I know they would all start nudging their heads up against my hand angrily? I thought I would slowly discorporate right then and there, starting with my fingers.”

“Oh, come off it, they were only nipping at you.” Aziraphale looked over at him and his face became more serious. “My word, it’s almost as if they scared the living daylights out of you. Poor little things couldn’t hurt a fly.”

“I was scared on that day, just like how you were when you woke up from your dream, Basil. But then your Dad said to me—”

“Crowley, you’re the duck in charge. Show them who’s boss. I remember. And then you went—”

“QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK,” said Crowley, quite realistically, and Basil burst out laughing.

“You do a splendid duck impression,” they said, setting down their now-empty cocoa mug on the bedside table.

“Which worked, by the way. And then, this is my favorite part. We walked towards each other—” continued Crowley.

“—looked each other in the eye—”

“—and—”

Crowley and Aziraphale looked over at Basil, who had fallen asleep between them, a peaceful smile on their little face.

“I kissed your fingertips, like this,” Aziraphale whispered, demonstrating.

“And I, your lips,” said Crowley, remembering fondly. “Like this,” and he kissed Aziraphale firmly.

“Almost as if we were in Naples again,” said the angel, with a grin, and just like that, he turned off the lights so they could, all three of them, get some sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I don’t plan on creating a part two unless it’s specifically requested of me, but I had great fun writing this little story. I hope you had fun reading it. :)


End file.
